As combination of two words, honja (Korean for alone) and bap (translates to meal), honbap means the act of eating alone. It’s a recent trend in Korea, maybe the external reflection of our generation’s gradually increasing isolation and independence.
Growing up as an only child with working parents, I have learned how to do many things alone. One of which was eating dinner. Before middle school, my nanny would prepare it for me, but gradually I learned to eat with friends after school.
Sometimes, however, time didn’t match up. So when honbab started to become a trend, I didn’t know what to feel about it. Naturally as one who understands solo dining, I should have been more excited for the solo dates me, myself, and I would go in the near future. Except I wasn’t.
Before the hype about eating alone started in Korea, I had several incidents in which I was placed into the peculiar world of honbab. My first time was at a busy French creperie, where my dinner date had to abruptly rush out, leaving me to finish two plates of food.
Another time, I was at a modest, homey Japanese restaurant, which due to its small size could only squeeze in twelve people altogether. Since it wasn’t targeted to single consumers, I was seated at a table that would ideally fit two, especially to the eyes of the people waiting outside. And while I wouldn’t quite describe the experience as exceptionally horrific, I would not voluntarily choose to be in that kind of situation again.
Being alone, surrounded by other people, I wanted to eavesdrop and engage in a conversation, rescuing my lonely self from the air of silence that surrounded me. Instead, I tried to focus on the taste of the meal and how the scrambled egg gracefully sat on top of the rice. The measures I took to divert myself from feeling awkward and excluded seems, in retrospect, pitiful.
It was mostly my self-consciousness that brought about the unpleasantness of the situation; in my defense, the perception of solo diners as being outcasts or loners was the norm at the time, and individuals who ate out alone were suspected of being socially awkward.
However, such negative judgmental perceptions have since changed (or at least started to). With the number of honbab-lers increasing, former dining formats are transforming to accommodate this change. Honbab is no longer a stigma, but rather, a newly emerging, perhaps even fashionable aspect of culture in Korean society.
Today, honbab services can be located frequently, and society’s acceptance is evident in their popularity. Although dining alone was once unfamiliar, it is now even preferred amongst many students and workers as it saves time, money, and energy. Some even describe the honbab routine as not only convenient in terms of personal comfort, but also a relief, as one does not need to be concerned about other people, and can instead have the luxury of taking time to be with oneself.
On the other side, though, there are also those who are worried that about the alarmingly fast rise of honbab culture. These people claim that it is an indication of disconnection among people, which has arisen as a result of the over-competitive and increasingly fast-paced nature of life in today’s urbanized society.
Although I am wholeheartedly opposed to the prejudice linked with eating alone and those who actively engage in honbab culture, my personal opinion about dining ultimately remains unchanged. While those who want to dine alone should feel comfortable to do so without the judgement of others, I hope that the action of eating together will still be treasured and not merely a ‘necessity defined by society.’
After all, while honbab does have its benefits, there is still something significant about sharing a meal with another person. It is more than just eating; it’s the contribution of precious time and emotion.
